


the one where they're up all night

by lilshacc



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Movie Night, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Feels, Bruce Banner Hulks Out, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, M/M, mjolnir is a pal, steeb needs his sleep, warning: this will bring about some serious 2012-era avengers nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilshacc/pseuds/lilshacc
Summary: the gang (try) to have a movie night. natasha is scary in kitten pajamas. thor can't sleep, and bruce gets locked out on the roof. steve will fight you if you don't let him sleep.





	the one where they're up all night

Steve’s eyes start drooping somewhere around the beginning of The Last Jedi, his hand falling limp at his side from where it had been gently stroking Tony’s hair. With a huff, Tony reaches up to grab Steve’s hand and places it back atop his unruly hair, arching up into his hand in prompting. Steve smiles softly before resuming his petting, the image of a particularly clingy cat flitting into his tired mind. If the cat was a very warm and cuddly genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, that is.

The others are sprawled in various positions all over what must be the most comfortable couch ever manufactured in this new world Steve has been thrown into. The low glass table that sits atop the fuzzy white rug that Thor had insisted on buying when they’d spent an entire futile day at Ikea, is littered with empty coffee mugs, an abandoned bowl of popcorn, and Mjolnir. Of course. 

Steve’s shield is a little ways off, leaning nicely up against the wall beside the TV and always in his line of sight, no matter how many times Tony shifts them from his spot snuggled up into Steve’s side. Clint has his bow slung over the back of the couch and his portable arrows safely inside of the little pouch Tony had made to go with them. There had been fanny pack jokes for weeks after Tony had first given Clint the portable explosive arrows in the small bag that strapped around his waist, but after they’d gotten ambushed by those tiny bots in Central Park and Clint was the only one who had had a weapon on him, the jokes had abruptly come to a stop.

Half of them are asleep by this point, or well on their way there. Natasha’s got one silk pyjama covered leg slung over a snoring Clint’s thighs on the loveseat, Bruce is sprawled across the recliner his eyes half shut, and Thor seems to have given up entirely. His open mouth is full of popcorn threatening to make an escape with each rumbling snore. Tony and Steve are the only ones who are actually watching the movie, though Tony’s constant running commentary and ill-timed nudges seem to be the only things that are keeping Steve’s eyes from completely giving up on him.

There’s a fairly intense light-saber battle taking place on screen that has Natasha groaning as she wakes up from her light doze, stretching her long limbs from where they had been curled up for hours. Her movements have everyone else also slowly coming to, blinking blearily as JARVIS slowly brightens the lights in the room.

“I’ve had enough of space for a lifetime. I’m going to bed” Natasha mutters, yanking at the blanket trapped under Clint’s legs. He frowns and slowly blinks up at her, whining softly as his blanket is taken away from him.

“Make that three,” he mutters, his words muffled in a yawn, his hands making grabby motions at Natasha as she stands up.

Steve’s attention is promptly redirected when Tony shifts again -- right into Steve’s lap. He rubs his cold nose against Steve’s collarbone and arches his back, his joints popping in response to being coiled up for so long. 

He brushes his hands down Tony’s sides, warm to the touch from being pressed up against Steve. Tony winds his arms around his neck, pulling himself closer as the abandoned blanket draped over them slips onto the ground. 

Tony pulls away a little, blinking up at Steve with bleary eyes that somehow still manage to pull of sultry on top of that. “Wanna take this party away from the crazies?”

Steve can’t manage a verbal response, but he does respond with a weak nod, hoping it relays his tired enthusiasm. Tony buries his face back into the curve of his neck and for a short second Steve thinks he may have fallen asleep, before he’s pulling away again squeezing Steve’s bicep as he pushes himself off the couch. 

“This better be one of your stupid jokes that no one understands, because I placed them on your desk this morning with a note saying Fury wanted them in by tonight,” Natasha is saying, her voice steadily growing more and more steely, although it hadn’t increased in volume. 

Clint is looking more and more afraid by the second. He has his hands up at shoulder height in the universal ‘please don’t kill me’ gesture, although Steve isn’t sure how effective that would prove to be against the unforgiving force that was Angry Nat.

“Look, I’m sorry but I never got any reports, I swear,” Clint insists, turning his fearful gaze helplessly towards Tony who shrugs, sporting a grin Steve knows he isn’t even trying to conceal.

“Nat, maybe you forgot-” 

She turns the full heat of her glare onto Steve, who immediately shuts up. There is no way they’re getting out of this without the reports either showing up miraculously or them finding Clint’s body in a dumpster tomorrow morning.

Apparently, Natasha is not having any more of this bullshit tonight, because she storms up to Clint her kitten adorned silk pajamas that strangely make her look more frightening. Tonys hisses (quietly) in sympathy as she grabs Clint by the elbow, and drags him up off the couch. 

“You are finding me those reports, and we are sending them to Fury tonight, or so help me-” The rest of her words are cut off by a series of yelps from Clint as she hauls him out of the room. 

They watch the pair leave in silence, before Tony shrugs and flops back onto the couch, telling JARVIS to resume the movie from the last pause. Thor resumes chewing his mouthful of popcorn, and Bruce just sits back with a long-suffering sigh. Steve untangles himself from Tony, and shuffles off into the kitchen.

“I’m going to assume everyone here wants coffee?” Steve asks, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion, opening the nearest cabinet and pulling out his favourite mug.

“I’m insulted that you have to ask, babe,” comes Tony’s reply over the sounds of the Imperial March playing out on the TV.

Steve rolls his eyes, but pulls out Tony’s blue mug with a faded image of his shield on the side before starting up the coffee machine. Steve waits for the coffee to finish brewing, leaning against the counter and listening to the quiet gurgles from the pot.

“Did we ever replace the some more Pop Tarts, Captain?” Thor asks as he wanders into the kitchen, his big hands gently setting aside packages of Cheez-Its and cereal boxes with way too much sugar and not enough cereal that Tony and Natasha have an unhealthy affection for. 

Steve frowns for a second as he tries to figure out what exactly Thor just said. “Do you mean s’mores?” 

Thor smiles widely as he removes his face from the open cupboard, pointing at Steve’s face enthusiastically. “Yes! The delightful little things. Do we have any?”

“I don’t think so, buddy. Someone forgot to get our groceries yesterday.” Tony says pointedly, shuffling into the kitchen to grab his steaming cup of coffee. 

Steve sputters indignantly. “Excuse you, I was on a mission and then--”

“No worries, I will head out myself,” Thor starts to say, although he is interrupted by Tony and Steve both putting a stop to that thought, the memory of Thor returning with a small grocery bag full of Pop Tarts leading them all into a false sense of security before a fucking truck full of the things showed up an hour later, still too fresh in their minds.

“JARVIS, place an order for two boxes of s’more flavoured Pop Tarts for Thor. And as my personal supersoldier, you should be back in there on the couch with me.” Tony says, turning to slide his arms around Steve’s middle. Thor thankfully slinks away, bidding them both a very boisterous goodnight.

“Mmm, you’re always so very warm. How are you so warm?” Tony mumbles probably half to himself. He blindly sets his mug at the edge of the counter, and Steve abruptly reaches out to push it back further onto the counter. 

Tony blinks one open and snorts in amusement. “Have I ever told you that you’re very cute?”

Steve wraps his arms around him, nudging his nose against the top of Tony’s head. “Maybe once or twice. It wouldn’t hurt if you said it again, though.”

Tony opens his mouth to reply when they’re both interrupted by an awkward clearing of a throat, and Steve steps away from Tony hastily. Tony merely smirks lazily and pulls him close, looking up at Bruce hovering uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Oh, hey Brucie bear. Are we still going up to see the showers later?” Tony asks as Bruce moves hesitantly to retrieve his coffee. 

“Um, yeah sure, if you still want to,” he replies, taking out his phone and typing something in quickly, ducking his head to take a sip of his steaming coffee. “It starts in fifteen. I’ll meet you up on the roof?”

“You got it,” Tony nods as Bruce makes his way out of the kitchen. “I’ve got some unfinished business with this one though, so--”

“Yeah, Tony, I think that was kind of implied,” Bruce interrupts over his shoulder, probably picking up his pace to the elevator.

Tony turns back to an adorably confused looking Steve and runs his hands over his chest. “Showers?” Steve asks at last, moving to rest his hands on Tony’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the soft material of his band shirt. 

“Meteor showers, big guy. They’re supposed to be the most visible in the next hour or so and I’ve been waiting to see it for months,” Tony says, his voice taking on that familiar note of excitement whenever he was talking about things that Steve only really cared about because they made Tony happy.

He smiles down at him, wrapping his arms around Tony’s middle. “I thought we were going to take this party upstairs,” Steve murmurs, nosing down Tony’s jaw.

“Uh, my brain kind of just shuts down when you do that so I don’t really have a response for your right now,” Tony mumbles a little breathily, tilting his head back to give Steve more access. 

Steve steps back from him, dropping one last kiss to Tony’s lips and reaching behind him to grab the cooling cup of coffee. Tony whines and reaches for him again, but Steve thrusts the coffee at his chest with an amused smirk. 

“Go see your meteors, Tony. I’ll see you in bed.” Steve says, and walks back out into the common area to clean up after the mess they had left. He hears a faint whimper as he leaves the kitchen, and smirks in satisfaction to himself as he picks up the empty bowl of popcorn.

\--

Thor tucks Mjolnir into the little space Bruce had helped him create in one of the empty drawers in his nightstand. He chuckles to himself as he drapes the soft fleece baby blanket over his hammer, remembering when Tony had bought it for him as a joke and Thor had immediately thanked him and brought it up for Mjolnir, much to his friend’s surprise.

He checks on Jeff the puppy that he and Nat had found during one of their nightly walks through the city and had gone to great lengths to hide from the rest of the team. Tony had a Rule about pets, but Thor hadn’t been able to help himself. Besides, he himself thought that Tony would be much less inclined to create such misguided Rules if he got himself a small companion such as Jeff.

Thor climbs into bed, carefully arranging the soft duvet cover over himself before he leans over to retrieve his cellular device from the nightstand. He clumsily fiddles with it, his big thumbs still getting used to working the tiny yet incredible device, until the screen unlocks, revealing the background consisting of Jane’s beautiful features that he had set with the great help of Natasha.

Thor smiles at the image of Jane’s smiling face, and sends her a quick message relaying the most important elements of his day. It was a tradition Thor had learned quickly during his time on Midgard, as the question that most people tended to ask him was “how was your day”. 

So Thor, being the ever considerate Asgardian that he was, had decided to spare them the effort and started sending people his most favoured moments of everyday, before he went to bed. Jane seemed to think it amusing, though curiously, Thor had stopped hearing from many others after he had started doing this.

Thor places his phone back onto the table, and turns on his side, reaching down to lift up the soft fleece duvet over himself. He had just shut his eyes for perhaps five precious minutes, when he hears it.

Thor jolts upright, Mjolnir at the ready. His eyes dart to every corner of his darkened room, prepared for a fight at any instant.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

He growls, and shoves the duvet off him as the sounds grow steadily louder.

Thor slips off the bed and pads barefoot into the empty living space on his floor. The eerie sound gets louder the further he travels into the room, and Thor grips the handle of Mjolnir tightly in anticipation.

Suddenly, a flashing tiny red light from a corner of the room catches his attention. With a small grin of triumph, Thor slowly edges closer towards the general location of the mysterious object. 

Thor doesn't dare to make any sudden moves, lest he spurs the thing into an unwarranted attack. He stops at what he deems to be a safe distance away from it, and observes carefully.

It doesn't seem to be a malicious creature. At least, from where Thor is. Yet, there is something very suspicious about it, and he is incredibly frustrated with himself that he cannot seem to pinpoint what exactly that is.

Thor inches closer to it, his curiosity getting the best of him. His mind helpfully relays him a faint memory of Loki’s whole snake deception, but he casts that thought away.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Thor’s eye twitches as he lunges forward and rips the thing right out of the wall with an almighty cry. He drops it onto the floor and bears down on it with Mjolnir until it has been satisfyingly smashed into smithereens.

“Lights,” he calls out, and the room brightens up instantaneously. Thor crouches down, squinting at the now very broken object. 

It seems inconspicuous enough. It’s a small silver….machine, by the looks of it, not unlike the multitude of others that Thor has been introduced to during his time at Midgard. Except this one is beeping rather insistently, and he wants it to stop. 

Hoping that Stark wouldn’t have too much need for the odd machine, Thor smashes it with Mjolnir a few more times just for good measure, and then promptly turns to go back to bed. His pleasant mood had admittedly been ruined by the object of insanity, but he would go to sleep and start the new day as a clean slate. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY STILL BE MAKING THAT HORRID NOISE, YOU STUPID CREATURE?” Thor demands, striding forward to demolish the thing once more.

A few more strikes from an always (usually) helpful Mjolnir later, he is satisfied enough with the damage done to the strange object, and decides to return to bed.

Thor settles himself into bed once again with a sigh, Mjolnir sinking into the soft pillow next to his head. He smiles to himself as a familiar feeling of victory washes over him, thinking to himself that there is no enemy, extremely unsettling inanimate objects included, that Thor of Asgard cannot defeat.

“Lights,” Thor says softly, before his eyes fall shut.

….

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

“NO.”

\--

“You never gave me any reports! All we’re gonna find in my room is you looking sheepish because you didn’t give them to me,” Clint says as he walks (or more accurately, jogs) in order to keep up with Natasha’s too-long strides.

“And I’m telling you that I did,” Natasha replies with her I-refuse-to-deal-with-your-bullshit voice, and hey, that’s not fair--

“Clint, I’m not arguing with you anymore. Your room is ten steps away, and we’re about to find out who didn’t do what very soon,” Natasha cuts into his thoughts, her voice steelier than steel, and Clint shuts his mouth because that was the voice she used when the knives were about to make an appearance.

Natasha makes a beeline for Clint’s desk as soon as they arrive at his room, starting to rummage through the piles of numerous papers, empty coffee cups, and magazines that are scattered across the surface. Clint stands back a few paces, watching from a safe distance as Natasha’s rage is taken out on every piece of paper that comes in her way.

She goes through his drawers, and even manages to find the secret compartment that Clint had found in one of them when he’d first moved in. Natasha doesn’t bat an eyelid as her hand comes into contact with a moldy grilled cheese sandwich that probably shouldn’t be oozing like that, merely tossing it into the trash can next to Clint’s feet. 

“Hey, since you get to go through all my stuff, why can’t I go through your stuff?” Clint asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Natasha looks up from her search to spare him a single withering glance. “You wouldn’t find anything there.” 

“I think if you went and looked at your own desk you would find the reports, because you never gave them to me.” 

Natasha stops mid-rummage, and glares at him. Clint swears there might’ve been a growling situation as well, but he swallows hard and keeps his mouth shut. He’s dealt with much more extreme rage from Natasha, and he is fairly sure she wouldn’t do anything to him after two in the morning. Or maybe the fact that it’s two AM makes it more likely for murder to take place. 

“You know what? Fine. I’ll go have a look at my desk. But you’re going to be swallowing your words, Barton,” she sighs, and drops the pile of candy wrappers she had been picking out of some files. 

Clint watches her go with a smirk, crossing the room to flop down onto his bed as she turns the corner.

He’s closed his eyes for maybe ten seconds when the alarm goes off, signalling an intruder in the tower. Probably another psychotic, evil hell-bent on ruining their one day off. Or maybe Bruce Hulked out for some reason. 

Clint jolts out of bed to grab his bow and arrows resting on the wall next to his bed. He calls out for Natasha but hears no reply, so he runs towards the elevator assuming that she had probably gone down already. 

When the elevator doors had slid shut, Natasha emerged from the darkness of her room, her features set in a frown from the persistent blare of the alarm.

In her hands, was a file with a bright yellow Post-It stuck on top that said, “Mission reports!! Send out by tonight.”

\--

“When is this supposed to start again?” Tony asks, and by Bruce’s count it’s the nineteenth time he’s asked the exact same question since he’d arrived lugging two strange objects that Bruce later found out were supposed to be telescopes. NASA would be honest-to-god crying if they ever got a chance to look at Tony’s telescopes.

Bruce sighs once again, lifting his head from where he’d been peering through the eyepiece of one of the telescopes. “It should’ve started about twenty minutes ago, but you can’t always predict the exact time meteor showers occur, Tony--”

“It’s just a timeframe, yeah, yeah,” Tony interrupts, hand coming down to adjust the mount of his own telescope without his eyes leaving the eyepiece. 

Bruce can’t help the fond smile as he once again bends down to peer through the eyepiece of his own telescope, turning the knob of the focuser only slightly so that the image of the night skies projected to him are a bit more sharp. By now, he’s gotten so used to Tony’s presence that his antics have become more amusing and sometimes even endearing rather than annoying.

Tony had been a friend to Bruce at a time when even his own team was afraid of him and his ability to lose control at any given time in a space they all shared. He’d invited Bruce to make himself at home in his own workshop, and eventually, Bruce had been able to let down his guard enough that they had even started to work on individual projects together. It had been the start of a great friendship, and Bruce often found himself unable to remember the last time he let his guard down around another person.

Bruce knows that Tony can be a handful at times, and that some of his teammates had found it difficult to work with a man who simply did not know how to ‘team’. But Tony always strived to do his best, even on his own, and especially for those he cared about, and Bruce would always be grateful to him for that.

“You got a hot date with the Captain or something?” Bruce asks tentatively, not wanting to set Tony off on a rant about things that Bruce did not need to be privy to.

“Uh, you bet I do. I’m sleeping with Captain America, Bruce. I’ve got a hot date every night,” Tony says, lifting his head to peer up at the empty night sky without the aid of his telescope.

Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably, sort of wishing he’d never asked the question in the first place. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. There doesn’t seem to be much happening tonight, but it’s probably just less visible to us since we’re in the city.” Bruce offers, carefully adjusting the mount on the telescope so that it could pan to another section of sky.

Tony groans in frustration. “This is so unfair. Sex or science. Science or sex,” he mutters. “It’s like the age-old question of ‘sex or food’ except so much worse.”

Bruce scoffs out a gentle laugh, wisely deciding to keep his agreement to himself. “I’m serious, though. You should head back; it’s unlikely we’re going to catch sight of anything tonight. I’ll pack everything up and lock it all down.”

Tony looks unsure, but apparently the thought of Steve waiting for him downstairs was too enticing as he thanks Bruce profusely, assuring him that he can do whatever he wanted with the Tony Telescopes as he’d dubbed them, and makes haste for the door leading to the elevator. 

Bruce watches him go with faintly concealed amusement, and then sighs to himself as he casts one last look at the skies. He starts to disassemble all of their equipment another ten minutes later when the skies remain clear and unblinkin, carefully packing it all up in the cases that Tony had brought them in. 

He swallows back a yawn, thinking to himself that he’ll catch the meteor shower on a pre-recorded livestream somewhere come morning. Bruce closes the last metal case, the latch falling shut with a firm click. He stands up, rubbing his cold hands together and absently walks towards the door.

Bruce reaches out to enter his code into the holographic number pad that appears in front of the door’s handle. The keys emit a soft aesthetically pleasing beep with every touch. He enters the last number, and waits for the tell-tale click, signalling that the door is unlocked.

The number pad glows red, and a string of words run past on the narrow screen, telling Bruce that he has been denied access. He re-enters his code, figuring he must’ve made a mistake in his tired haste. The holographic pad glows red once again.

He frowns, pushing his glasses up onto his nose with his pinky finger, and trying again, only to receive the exact same response.

Bruce groans internally, rubbing a hand over his tired face. Tony must’ve triggered a full security lockdown of the Tower when he had left in his hurry, and now Bruce was stuck on the roof of the Avengers Tower in the middle of the night. 

Oh, this was not good.

He spends the next thirty minutes going from calm deep breathing and trying to hack his way into the system, to banging loudly on the door, first asking Jarvis politely to let him in, to yelling at Tony or anybody to open the door. 

Bruce sighs and slides down the door, having resigned himself to spending the night up on the roof. Hey, maybe he can actually catch sight of the meteor shower.

Unfortunately, his frantically beating heart seems to have very different feelings about being trapped on top of a very tall building in the middle of New York City for the entire night.

Bruce feels the tell-tale pain in his joints, before his line of thought starts going haywire, and the Avengers alarm begins to blare.

“Well, shit.” 

\--

Tony bounds out of the elevator before the doors fully slide open, toeing off his shoes and running his fingers through his hair as he makes his way through the penthouse suite in search of his bedroom. His mind is rapidly gathering with filthy, filthy thoughts, all of which include a very naked Steve Rogers in his very big bed. 

He practically skips into the room, his mouth open and ready with a dirty quip, when he abruptly comes to a stop halfway in, his forehead creased with the beginnings of a frown.

The lights have been dimmed to almost complete darkness, so not in the sexy way. The sheets are rumpled on the bed, again not in the sexy way. The only sexy thing about the whole situation is the vaguely supersoldier shaped lump softly snoring away underneath the rumpled bed sheets, and Tony isn’t so sure he wants to be one of those creepy somnophiacs so he stops that thought before it comes to being. 

He quietly strips down to his boxers and reaches for one of Steve’s shirts he had lately taken to wearing to sleep when it got chilly. Tony slips into bed, pressing quick kisses to Steve’s bare shoulders as he pulls the sheets over them both.

“Hey, baby, I’m back,” he murmurs into Steve’s neck, pressing close so Steve’s muscled back was right up against his chest. 

“I will fight you if you try to have sex with me,” Steve mumbles, his words slurred sleepily. 

Tony cuddles into him with a pout. “But I’ll bring out all my best moves just for you, and you won’t regret it for a second, promise.”

“Tony, these hands will start flying if you say another word.” 

Huffing more loudly that he probably has to, Tony settles back onto his side of the bed (which was a lie because he always ended up in Steve’s side anyway). “Whoever taught you that wants to watch the world burn,” he mumbles petulantly as he turns exaggeratedly so his back is to Steve’s face, and smirks in satisfaction when he feels Steve roll over, arms slipping over Tony’s waist. 

“If I promise you a morning blowjob, will you let me sleep?” Steve mumbles, his breath hot against the back of Tony’s neck.

“Hell yeah,” Tony breathes, shifting more comfortably against him so that their bodies were practically slotted together. He goes quiet, his thumb softly stroking the back of Steve’s hand as his breath starts evening out. 

That’s when the alarm goes off.

Steve jerks awake with a groan, and Tony is so afraid for the guy who decided to debut his criminal lifestyle during Captain America’s after hours, because those hands really are gonna start flying and very soon.

\--

They all meet on their way to the roof, which is where the alert had originated according to a very amused JARVIS. Natasha’s still wearing her kitten pajamas, but has two pistols in each hand, and has somehow managed to strap on a holster onto her bare arm, her knives safely tucked into it. Steve looks alarmingly similar to a grumpy old guy who has just been awoken from his afternoon nap. Clint is smirking, although no one wants to know why, Thor is looking murderous, and Tony is truly feeling the dread as he aims his repulsors at the door leading up to the roof.

When they all manage to clamber up, the Hulk himself is waiting for them. Well, shit.

As soon as he spots them, he points an accusatory finger at Tony. “You locked Hulk out here!”

Tony winces inside of his helmet, although he’s pretty sure it shows on the armour. “Yeah, I know, and I’m very sorry buddy. I’m stupid, and very tired so can you get Bruce back so we can all go to sleep,” Tony tries to placate, holding his hands up in front of him. “You know how Cap gets when he doesn’t get his super sleep.”

“Hey!”

“Tony very stupid.”

“Yes. Yes, he is. We can all agree with you on that, man”

“Shut up Clint.”

It’s a few minutes before the Hulk sits down heavily wearing a truly magnificent pout, the green slowly fading out as Bruce returns to them. Natasha hurries over with a blanket that she had procured out of nowhere, wrapping it around his bare shoulders.

Tony turns to face them all, the faceplate receding into the helmet. “So, now that we’re all up again, wanna watch a movie?”


End file.
